


but its fine, its fine, its fine

by jasondean



Category: Spring Awakening - Sheik/Sater
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, M/M, i had more tag ideas when i started writing this but im getting spacy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-10
Updated: 2016-07-10
Packaged: 2018-07-22 15:33:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7444471
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jasondean/pseuds/jasondean
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>wendla studies abroad in america without much idea of where it will lead to, and then she finds herself tied down by and in love with a man named melchior gabor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	but its fine, its fine, its fine

she meets him in her first week of university.

wendla bergmann has always been a sweet girl with little cares and the slightest bits of optimism and innocence that charms anyone she meets. she doesnt ever think of herself this way, but anyone who knows her will surely agree the description of "the girl next door" most definitely suits her. she has always been beautiful in the natural, unassuming way; the type of beauty people might look over quickly, but a beauty always present nonetheless. she could have easily wed at seventeen and become a caring wife that supported her husband as he continued his education or worked in the factory, then as expected, bear his children and stay at home, providing all the love she would be able to manage.

but, wendla bergmann is not that sort of girl. she loves tradition and how it follows her from childhood into adulthood, but she knows with absolute certainty that the countryside of germany is not in her future. a husband? children? perhaps, but not now, not in the way her parents anticipated.

so, a thirst for learning led wendla to study abroad. america, boasting freedom and everything loud and large, became her destination. college, her new mission.

she meets him at a party her roommate dragged her to. ("we cant be shut-ins, wendy! oh, do you mind if i call you that? wendla is beautiful, but its a little formal, dont you think?") (she never thought so, but when in rome.)

there is beer and wine coolers and cocktails of fizzing cola and different liquors. shes had alcohol before, but -- because its cheap, or because its american, or maybe both -- something about the stuff here makes her wince before swallowing a gulp of her drink down. she only keeps going because of annas -- thats her roommate, anna, "not annabelle, not annalise, just anna" -- insistence and her own appreciation of the bubbling warmth that fills her from head to toe.

she should be studying, doing homework, making friends in a place where there isnt yelling over the thump of the bass and the heavy scent of weed and cheap beer. she is, as always, the outsider.

"wendla, right?" she spins around at the sound of her name (well, _sort of_ her name; he pronounces the 'w' hard, american.), and she finds herself staring at an undeniably handsome, although the slightest bit unkempt, boy. no.  _man._ boys are back home where they work in factories and farms and never see outside the borders of town. here, there are men. "anna told me about you. we went to high school together. shes been losing her shit over you, though im maybe ninety percent sure shed lose her shit over anyone she would have been paired up with that wasnt from new york. guess youre a special thing, arent you?"

"yes," she replies a bit too eagerly, eyes wide. "its with a v sound," she provides, and he nods at the clarification, taking a drag from the joint in his hand while his eyes are still trained on her. 

his eyes are deep brown, something she always thought of as boring, something shed never bother with when she could have eyes as blue and clear as the sky. but her heart skips a beat when she looks into his dimensional brown, filled with something, something she cant put a name too but something she wants.

"melchior gabor," he introduces. "want a hit?" surprising herself, she nods. he holds the joint up to her lips, and she feels herself falling in love with the night, with the high, with melchior gabor.

* * *

he is, above all, normal.

he is normal and he hates it.

melchior grew up in upstate new york in a town no one in their right mind would care to remember the name of. he was raised in a home thoroughly dedicated to catholicism (hence his naming after, in his opinion, the lamest of the wise men) and the upkeep of a traditional family unit, the type that seemed so perfect that neighbors would watch on with thinly veiled envy. dad was a professor, mom stayed at home with melchior, who attended private catholic school, sunday mornings were spent at mass, and every summer, there was one week destined to be "family week," consisting of countless day-trips throughout with no electronics and no contact to friends.

if he had the option to choose one word to describe his upbringing, hed use "oppressive." he, the natural born troublemaker, became a master of lying without a trace by the time he was thirteen. he was a professional when it came to hiding things away from his overbearing parents. despite this, out of creeping paranoia, melchior hasnt kept a diary since he was in the first grade.

but, he could never stay silent. he always had to chatter away, to express his thoughts without being shot down immediately. he always has had flames in his heart, produced from a spark that adults didnt notice until it was too late to put it out. he ditched pencil and paper and turned to the internet, and blogging became the better alternative to journaling. his profound thoughts, unlike before, were now open to the public, residing on a public page on the world wide web.  _good,_ hed thought.  _i shouldnt keep my truths to myself._ oh -- and mr and mrs gabor could not, for the life of them, figure out anymore about computers than how to make documents in word.

so, he blogs. he blogs, like every other snob, and thats not something that has done anything to deviate him away from the undesirable title of average. sure, people read it, they respond to his passion like moths to a flame, but what does that even matter in the grand scheme of things?

melchior is a nobody who goes to college three hours from home studying a subject he cant make any sense of. the world wont remember him.

but, it wont remember her, either. wendla is a nobody who traveled across the planet to go to a sub par college and follow the rules and expectations of a shitty new country. shes content on rolling over and letting life fuck her over as long as its on her own terms. 

he thinks shes an idiot. she could be the sort of idiot that might ground him from his obsession with leading a fulfilling life while defying normalcy. 

mom and dad are always telling him he needs to grow up eventually.

* * *

normally, wendla would find it incredibly annoying how melchior carries himself, like hes the smartest person in the room. but melchior is not normal. he usually  _is_ the smartest person in the room, usually in the whole building, and wendla just cant seem to get enough. she despises fake, arrogant, self-centered men who think they are all that, but with melchior, hes completely real. his way of viewing the world isnt an attempt to seem intelligent (although, he most definitely is), it is just how his vision works. his insight isnt any sort of faux philosophy like she would have expected. no, its just raw and real.

dating melchior isnt a chore in the slightest. she doesnt have to make herself look pretty or watch her accent to make sure its not muddling her words, she just has to be with him and everything is a dream. just listening to him makes her feel worthwhile, like shes the only girl melchior has ever looked at. there are no movies with melchior, because he cant possibly keep quiet for that long, or restrain himself from making a comment on the deeper meaning of a scene or the significance of the films time period. there are just discussions. he is, by far, wendlas favorite course at school. and the only payment she has to make is her love, and that doesnt even feel like something shes giving away, more like something shes sharing. and its wonderful.

he tells her about a blog he runs, and now wendla can tune in to melchior central even when hes not around. she reads his blog posts in his voice, imagining his mannerisms and his gestures as he speaks so eloquently, and she cant keep the grin off her face. 

anna notices, and teases her about it lightly. "oh wendy, youre in love."

"am not."

they smile, because they both know the answer -- she is, she is so very in love with him. melchior gabor is absolutely intoxicating.

* * *

she is the first person he tells when he gets the email.

"this editor, he sent me an email, wendla. hes not just some guy who runs some online newspaper no ones heard of, you know? hes  _someone_. hes young and hes ambitious and he has this whole empire standing behind him and he noticed  _me._ "

for once, melchior shares wendlas girlish joy. "so, what did he say, melchi?" she assumes it is something along the lines of  _keep writing, youre good,_ but with melchior, she cant predict anything quite accurately.

"hes asked me to write an article," he breathes, grinning like a fool. "its-its not much, just a few hundred words, its not like the piece is high profile or anything, but..." he laughs, shaking his head slightly.  _ive done it._

wendla squeals her congratulations as she nearly tackles him to the ground with an intense hug, squeezing her slight frame to him and letting loose a series of contagious giggles. he kisses the top of her head and she ends the embrace to plant her lips on his. he squeezes her waist and throws her over his shoulder, and she is all laughs again, wrapping her legs around his body and letting him carry her to a couch his roommate brought in that should maybe be checked for bedbugs and lice and perhaps replaced with something that doesnt have the foam leaking out of it from five different tears. he doesnt complain. for once, his heart is full.

* * *

he writes and she studies, and they find themselves quickly approaching their one year anniversary. in fact, it probably would have passed them both by if wendla hadnt checked her phone calendar in a search for information for her english professors office hours. the day of is not as romantic as the everyday person probably would have preferred, but its more than enough for wendla.

they have pizza from the only place near campus, even though its lackluster and soggy, they enjoy it, and wendla happily reads melchiors draft for his newest article. they have a quick chat about melchiors dropping grades, but he quickly shoos the topic away with the reasons of being busy with his blog and his articles. "i need to be better, wendla. this used to just be a hobby, but im getting paid now. this is my job. this could be my career. school just... isnt, you get that, dont you?"

she nods obediently, of course. back at wendlas dorm, they skype her parents for a bit. wendla glows as she speaks to her parents, bragging about him like hes some sort of handsome trophy. he only speaks a few short words, and for the rest of the hour or so they call lasts, wendla and her parents chat back and forth in german, officially sealing him out and leaving him to his destined place as polite and perfect boyfriend.

* * *

he drops out of college after debating it in his head for a while, and it leaves his parents fuming. they dont think what hes doing is viable, that school is needed to keep any sort of job. but melchior knows a degree in engineering wont do him any sort of good for the field hes finding himself in, and university has become just a distraction, a waste of time and money. advertisements from his blog bring in a some cash here and there while his paycheck from the online paper is getting bigger and bigger, and hes got more and more on his plate.

wendla supports him through it, although he can tell she disapproves, if only because shes worried. 

"i know what im doing, baby, please trust me," he promises her, giving her a quick kiss as they pack up everything from his dorm. 

"i do trust you," she says softly, squeezing him into a hug. "just be careful, alright?"

"you know i cant do that," he laughs.

"just be careful, melchior," she repeats sternly.

"i will. for you."

* * *

wendla is now alone at school without melchiors company. between being hired for an office job writing articles for the same paper melchior was writing from school for and wendlas increasingly heavy academic load, they only get brief moments with each other during the week while the weekends are for the two of them. even then, they have to sacrifice a few hours or a day because of something popping up.

it is one of those weekends where they are both free; instead of making up for lost time with extravagant dates and steamy sex, they are watching a disney movie under layers of quilts at melchiors apartment. wendlas glad for it. school has been much too exhausting to be worried about pleasing melchior.

"this is only temporary, you know," he says suddenly.

"i dont think so," wendla sighs. "its not like school will let up. i cant quit, not for you, not for anyone, melchi. im halfway done with my degree and im seeing it through til the end." the ending sounds more determined and defiant than she originally intended.

"i know that. youre my college girl, after all. youre too smart to drop out."

"youre smart, and you dropped out," she points out.

he shakes his head. "im not smart, not like you, wendla. i cant do anything with a degree. its useless for me."

"but not for me."

"im not asking you to drop out."

"but... you just... you dont like that im doing this."

"i dont like that were apart so much."

"so, you _are_ asking me to drop out."

"no, im asking you to move in with me."

* * *

they wed shortly after moving in together. its not the wedding melchiors parents always pictured for him -- in fact, its not even remotely close. its saturday, sometime in june, and melchior drives them down to the nearest courthouse. a fee, a piece of paper, and some words from a priest, and its done. melchior is now a husband, wendla his wife.

he becomes so involved with his work and with wendla, he has to drop his blog, much to the disappointment of its numerous followers.

"god, its like there isnt anymore pseudo deep bullshit they can read. theyre acting like its the end of the fucking world."

"i thought you loved it," wendla says, confused. "the attention, the whole... people listening sort of thing. they cant find another you, melchior. theyre going to be upset, why is that so bad?"

melchior, in his increasingly common ill-tempered state, rolls his eyes. "it gets annoying after a bit. some of these people are so fucking stupid, youd think they were born yesterday. it was different when i actually wanted to talk to them. now its just like im going through comments just to defend my writing. its exhausting."

wendla raises her brows and shrugs, dropping the subject, but melchior still feels the anger stirring in him, the overwhelming desire to snap at something,  _anything_. and lovely wendla is always around.

"you think im a sellout, dont you?"

"melchior, what are you talking about?"

"they all do. the fucking readers. their telling me my other work is horrible and im just selling out. like, fuck, whats so wrong with that? when did i ever promise to be an authentic author?" hes fuming. wendla takes a step back. "welcome to the real world, _no one_ tells the truth. no one does things for no reason, out of the good of their heart or whatever. anything anyone cares about is related to what they want. were a selfish species! its in our nature."

wendla mumbles some sort of agreement, not wanting to keep her husband ablaze. he makes a few more stabs at provoking her into an argument of some sort, or to at least get some type of response, whether it be positive or negative, but she resists. he goes to bed, feeling as pent up and irritated as he was the start of the evening.

* * *

the change in melchior didnt come immediately. it was more a slight shift in the wind, from north to northwest; she noticed, but thought nothing of it. northwest to west to south. a different person from who she fell in love with. a tainted person. 

something is wrong. something is wrong and she cant quite place her finger on it. his irritation with her, and the world in general, is bothersome, confusing, and she hates herself for not being able to fix whatever it is, much less get the problem out in the open.

being around melchior is a battle in itself, and wendla doesnt have everlasting energy. she spends more and more late nights at the library just to avoid coming home. melchior doesnt comment on her absence at all, which makes wendla even more aware of the private battle hes fighting, pushing her further and further away.

* * *

its a friday when he meets him.

friday is melchiors favorite day. he doesnt really remember why -- maybe because he was a sucker for fish as a kid, or maybe because weekends were the only thing he could look forward to for the first twenty years of his life. hes not sure why the day of the week and all the feelings associated with it comes to mind when they meet, but they do. they shake hands and exchange introductions. his eyes crinkle when he smiles. melchior cant help but smile back.

moritz stiefel is a friday type of person. 

hes hired as a reporter, but its immediately evident to melchior that he also has a talent for writing. not just musings like he does, but real stories. moritz should have been an author, but instead hes mostly stuck fetching coffee at the office.

he has mousy brown curly hair and has a mind of its own, unruly and frizzy and long enough to obscure his hazel eyes from view. he dresses awkwardly, in a sort of style that is dapper but a little _too_ dapper for work and everyday life to be chic and fashionable -- instead, he looks more like a frazzled college professor. hes lanky and a few inches shorter than melchior. hes more of a joke than anything, and melchior finds out immediately how fun it is to toy with him.

their relationship isnt cruel. its more playful. 

hes fun to drink with. hes also fun to play video games with, and golf with ("we work an office job, were basically dads already, right? golf cant hurt." golf, as it turned out, is the most boring sport. but thats just how great moritz was, even ground-baseball-for-losers-and-old-people was entertaining.), and just chill with.

melchior doesnt know if he has any sort of idea how he makes his heart flutter, and how fucked he feels.

* * *

melchior is working late, leaving wendla to her own devices after having no classes that day. she goes through their apartment in silence, roaming the place like a ghost, trying to clean and dust and place things in a way that makes it look like two people actually live here. 

she finds herself at melchiors desk, skimming through a collection of books and newspapers. they all range from genre to genre, but they are all absolutely melchior gabor in the sense of how they read. it makes a smile stretch across her lips quite easily.

she orders the books and the papers in her boredom, making the space look neater and tidier than melchior could even hope to imagine. theres a couple of pamphlets in the bottom of the pile. one is something about her university, something shes seen a million times. another she takes a look at and it sends cold ice down her back, just from a glance at the title.

_'i think i might be gay'_

* * *

he tells wendla hes working late.

lying is an easy game. hes lost all sense of shame and guilt about it, its just a habit he grew up with, and one he cant shake off. sometimes, he gets urges to go confess, but for the most part, his trails of lies are far too long to even attempt to fix. 

"i cant believe youre married," moritz murmurs, sheets draped over him as he lays on his stomach with his head in his hands, watching melchior as he gets dressed, flattening out his button-down to the best of his abilities and mussing with his hair in the reflection of moritzs tiny tv.

he freezes, avoiding looking at moritzs reflection in the television.

lying is a guiltless thing for melchior. cheating, however, is a different story.

"dont," he hisses. "if you want to make me feel bad, you shouldve done it before..."

"n-no!" moritz says quickly. "no, im not, im just, im not trying to..." he swallows hard, pulling a hand through his head of curls and scratching his neck. "youre just, so young. to be married."

melchior shrugs, feeling himself relax again. he turns back to moritz, bending over to retrieve his pants from the floor, and sits on the side of the bed as he pulls them up over his legs. "shes the best im going to get." he sighs, hopping up to fiddle with the buttons on his pants with frustration. "i know. im young. shes from germany, so i just, thought... i dont know. i rationalized it in my head, like, i was helping her or something, because shes a citizen and stuff now? and i know, she wants to stay here, and i just... i thought..."

"you dont need to talk about it," moritz says. melchior seems to deflate, his shoulders sagging as he looks down at the ground. he rubs his eyes with his hands, mumbling his thanks to moritz.

"i dont know what im doing here."

"i think you do."

"i dont want..." melchior swallows hard, shaking his head.

"you dont want to be gay," moritz finishes. "its okay. you can say it. i wont get offended." the way moritz is looking at him, with the pity in his eyes, is so much worse than him being offended, melchior thinks.

"im going to go now," melchior says abruptly. "thank you, for, uhm... nevermind."

"you know you cant keep doing this to her, right? you cant keep doing this to yourself."

moritz is not the most elegant of people. he stumbles on his feet and on his words, he fucks up the copier if he so much as touches it, and he doesnt own any houseplants because he cant find a way to actually get them to not die. but, melchior has noticed he hasnt ever been wrong. 

**Author's Note:**

> what the fuck was this supposed to be about again


End file.
